h its golden
curtains was the same, and so was the window with its pointed arch. This
was the very room, the very bed, in which Manfred and she had made love
for the last time.

Manfred must have deliberately chosen to give this room to them.

Daoud's weapons hung on the wall, and his armor was mounted on wooden
stands. Chests of clothing and other possessions were lined up along the
wall. Soon the servants would be bringing her things in too.

This room--another thing she could not tell him about. She despised
herself. But it might well offend him if he knew of Manfred's little
joke, and enmity between Daoud and Manfred at this moment could be
disastrous.

_Manfred needs Daoud. Why is he so foolish as to risk angering him?_

Daoud and she stood staring at each other. They had said little so far.
She felt overwhelmed, and she supposed he did too. She felt her longing
for him as a strange not-quite-pain in the pit of her stomach.

He took her shoulders in his hands. How good to feel his strong fingers
holding her.

"How long has this been your room?" she asked.

"For about a month. Rather grand, is it not? The king says it is
suitable to my rank. I have my own command, a division of his mounted
Muslim warriors. I call them the Sons of the Falcon."

_Suitable to my rank._

She wondered how much Daoud knew about herself and Manfred.

"What troubles you?" he asked.

_So many things._

"Manfred," she said, choosing the worry easiest to speak of.

He stroked her cheek gently. "No need to torment yourself. I understand
how it must have been."

_But would you understand about Simon?_

She said, "But can Manfred accept what you and I are to each other?"

He shrugged. "You see that we are together in his palace. You saw that I
rode with you before me on my horse through the streets of Lucera and
into Manfred's castle."

"I see that Manfred must know about us. Are you sure he does not want me
back? It can be fatal to cross a king."

"When we got the message that Ugolini and you were coming here instead
of going to Viterbo, I talked with Manfred, not as subject and king, but
as man and man. He was most gracious, as Manfred usually is."

"What did he tell you?"

"That indeed he still cares for you. Too much, it seems."

"Too much?"

Daoud's teeth flashed in his blond beard. "His queen, the mother of his
four children, Helene of Cyprus, usually looks the other way when
Manfred beds beautiful young women.